


Everyone just wants it to be over

by orphan_account



Series: tell me your story [4]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 20:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19280248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: People often forget to ask about those who go out of their way to care for others.





	Everyone just wants it to be over

A sigh; impatient, frustrated, accompanied by angry tapping against the keyboard. Seonghwa watches from the top bunk, lying idly, his phone unlocked and held close to his face but his attention lies elsewhere, directed on the hunched form sat on the cold floor.

 

The studio’s doorknob got jammed again, from the many times Hongjoong tried to sneak in there under everyone’s noses, pressing the lock before turning the doorknob as he slipped in and out so that no one would hear it. No one was around the time when it happened, because it was a free day and everyone had gone out by themselves, returning home only to find Hongjoong working in the living room.

 

This is better, Seonghwa decides, because this time, Hongjoong doesn’t get to hide. It’s easier to keep an eye on him and drag him away when it’s needed. He works too hard, and he’s also stubborn; a combination that could kill him. Seonghwa doesn’t want to wait around for that to mean literally.

 

It’s still early, just a little after dinner, so Seonghwa doesn’t interfere. Not yet, even with the obvious signs of stress, because he knows that even if it looks as though Hongjoong hates what he’s doing right now, he still very much loves his job.

 

This is what they all signed up for, anyway. The drawbacks, the challenges — they’re all anticipated and prepared for. They’re all part of the package.

 

Seonghwa can confidently say he’s well-prepared. He’s even anticipated a position change; his shift from rapper to vocalist was surprising but not wholly unanticipated. It happens. Even before he auditioned, he knew everything to expect, and he had a plan for dealing with possible problems. He was prepared.

 

What he never prepared for, however, is one Kim Hongjoong, and all the baggage he carries with him.

 

Until now, Seonghwa still isn’t prepared, not even when he spends day and night trying to wrap his head around everything that seems to bother Hongjoong; everything inherently  _ Hongjoong, _ and everything that isn’t.

 

When they first met, Hongjoong was a lot more chipper, his smiles a lot bigger and more genuine. He laughs a lot, talks a lot. He’s so far off to the person on the floor right now, the one cursing under his breath over a song he’s trying to finish.

 

(People aren’t one-dimensional, Seonghwa.)

 

Hongjoong used to be so happy, even in the dorms with just the boys’ company, no cameras rolling, no strangers to impress, no act to put up.

 

And then he began opening up. It’s a good thing, really, to let out the things that bother you, and it feels good too, to be trusted with someone’s secrets and insecurities. Hongjoong shared his fears, bit by bit, and listened as Seonghwa sympathized and shared his own.

 

With that trust, comes the vulnerability. The late nights when Hongjoong would just roll over to his back and whisper his worries to Seonghwa became more frequent.

 

(Was he really sad that often?)

 

Every single time, Seonghwa patiently listened, and offered advice where needed.

 

He didn’t think it was strange, that Hongjoong only ever looked glum in his presence. When around the other boys, Hongjoong was a lot more like his cheerful self, and one night, when the sky was dark, he confessed that it was difficult putting up that facade.

 

With vulnerability, comes the dependence.

 

Seonghwa didn’t feel it at first, but it crept up at him — gradually, slowly, until he started suffocating without knowing the reason why. He could not pinpoint it, could not comprehend why he was feeling so unwell.

 

(He denied knowing.)

 

Every single night, behind closed doors, Hongjoong would look up at him with pleading eyes, always asking for reassurance. Every single time, Seonghwa would give him what he wanted. Hongjoong would smile at him then, satisfied for the time being.

 

It was enough.

 

(And then it wasn’t.)

 

Suddenly, Hongjoong found it too frustrating.

 

_ What do you want, then? _ Seonghwa asked, softly, but Hongjoong flinched as if his voice was raised.

 

Hongjoong’s head hung low, shoulders slumped.  _ I don’t know. _

 

(He did, but he doesn’t admit that until years later. But nothing is solved, even after he’s finally said it.

 

Everything just became a lot more confusing.)

 

It was difficult.

 

Seonghwa wasn’t prepared for this. He expected two-faced trainees, backstabbers, dorm slobs, abusive staff members, but not  _ Hongjoong.  _ He knew how to take care of himself and the younger boys, but he could never figure out how to bring the same effect to  _ Hongjoong. _

 

Out of nowhere, a fifty foot tall wall wedged itself between them. Hongjoong craved space, guarded and closed himself off, but somehow still retained the same level of dependency from before, if not even higher.

 

It was a maze, made for Seonghwa to run wildly in, trying to look for the prize that was never there. But he kept running, because how was he supposed to know what was and wasn’t at the end?

 

(But why is he treating this as if Hongjoong is doing it all on purpose?)

 

(Is he not?)

 

Seonghwa has been pushed to run in circles, aimlessly, trying to understand someone who refuses to be understood. How can he possibly help the one who cried for it when the same person shut him away?

 

(He tries not to look at Hongjoong’s big, pleading eyes and think  _ parasite. _ He tries, he  _ tries _ — )

 

Hongjoong’s wants clash with his needs and Seonghwa is left in the middle, trying to make sense of it all, trying to marry the two together and reach a conclusion. But they keep fighting, keep battling it out and Seonghwa always ends up the wounded loser.

 

Who picks  _ him  _ up, then?

 

(No one, because the parasite keeps wringing him dry, drinking and drinking until there’s nothing left of him. And he lets it, even when he’s only rewarded a frown and a rough shove, because he persists on helping, and Hongjoong doesn’t want it, even if he keeps holding onto Seonghwa for dear life.

 

It’s a thankless job — )

 

But Seonghwa tries to understand, because that’s what he’s supposed to do. (Hongjoong keeps telling him it’s not his obligation to do so.) He waits patiently, always on the side, ready to be summoned.

 

This is the role that he established, after all. (Not Hongjoong, never Hongjoong.) He’s supposed to be the caring hyung, the motherly one who can’t sleep when he knows one of the boys doesn’t feel well. (It’s an idol thing; there’s always this one member who acts as the mother hen. He’s been prepared for this.)

 

This is who he’s supposed to be, the shoulder everyone leans on. It’s an honor, a privilege, and for that, he is grateful to be given the gift of trust.

 

But he’s so  _ tired  _ and frustrated.

 

(Everyone is.)

 

(That’s why they run to him.)

 

And who does he run to?

 

(No one is stopping him from seeking for his own comfort.)

 

Hongjoong shouts a curse, slamming his laptop closed. He appears to have given up, muttering to himself as he puts his belongings away. To Seonghwa, this is a good thing, because Hongjoong drags himself to bed on his own.

 

(Less work for everyone.)

 

“Joong?”

 

(Except for Seonghwa.)

 

(No one is pushing him to do all of this. But isn’t this what friends normally do — )

 

(Isn’t this what the  _ mom of the group _ normally does?)

 

Hongjoong’s currently out of view, still aggressively putting his things away. He’s doing it noisily, angrily, slamming everything sturdy and invaluable against whatever surface is near. Seonghwa listens, patiently waiting on his bed, until it grows silent once again.

 

He has to do this. He can’t let it go too bad.

 

“Get up here with me,” he calls. Hongjoong answers with a grunt, a good enough response. When he isn’t feeling up to it, he’d say no. His nonverbal replies are affirmatives.

 

The ladder creaks under the younger boy’s weight, and then he crawls up into Seonghwa’s space, the bed dipping, sheets wrinkling. Seonghwa can already feel the weight inside his chest making itself known, stubborn and heavy, gripping around his heart like a persistent, thorny vine.

 

(Like a parasite. Like  _ Hongjoong _ — )

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks as he scoots back to give the other space, even though he already knows the answer.

 

Hongjoong merely huffs. He slips under the covers easily, and then he turns to lie on his side. “No,” he replies, curt, the words wrapped thick with frustration.

 

Seonghwa hums, thinks about how much he’d rather be asleep most of the time these days.

 

(Wouldn’t it be great to just be asleep forever?)

 

(Just fall asleep, be anywhere but here. Away from this one, away from the problems he creates.)

 

There are things one should address, Seonghwa thinks, and he says it out loud before he lets himself hesitate: “I get tired, sometimes.” He leaves it at that, open, hanging heavily between them, and it doesn’t fall on deaf ears because Hongjoong always,  _ always _ thinks too deeply on everything.

 

(He always thinks everything has to do with him.)

 

“It’s okay,” Hongjoong whispers, and he breaks out into a smile, but it’s mirthless, defeated,  _ powerless, _ its dimness a stark contrast to his twinkling eyes. He’s beautiful, always have been, even as his smile falters at the steady pouring of his tears and the poorly held back sob that punches itself out of his throat. His voice is shaky, and his shoulders are trembling terribly. He adds, “It’s okay to be tired.” It truly is a sight, to watch all the emotions play on his face, the way he tries to school his expression into neutrality before he fails, because he’s too expressive for his own good. He’s beautiful.

 

Seonghwa watches Hongjoong grow blurry until he’s nothing but just a mix of colors. Seonghwa blinks, and Hongjoong is back, bright and dark at the same time, endlessly understanding and somehow still so confused, so  _ confusing, _ so close yet so out of reach. There’s so much he wants to say, but his chest hurts, and the hesitance he tries so desperately to push away comes gripping at his throat.

 

“I don’t want to be tired,” Seonghwa says instead, helpless, torn apart and suffocated, but he wants to hold out hope. “I can’t be tired.”

 

And he knows, as soon as he’s uttered it, that he said the wrong answer. Hongjoong’s eyes flutter closed, mouth pressing into a thin line, breathing in. When he exhales, his shoulders slump and his head drops. He opens his eyes again, half-lidded, gaze on the space between them.

 

“I’m not saying this because I want you to feel bad, and I’m not saying this because I hate myself,” he says, no longer trembling, voice losing its quiver, and somehow, it’s scarier. “I know it’s hard, and I don’t want you to feel obligated to cheer me up, because you’re not.” Seonghwa opens his mouth to reply, defensive, but Hongjoong holds up a hand to hush him. “I want you to take care of yourself too.”

 

Something sparks inside Seonghwa’s chest, hot and raging, but it dies down just as quick, simmering down into cold  _ nothing, _ burnt dead and black and smoking uselessly. He stares,  _ parched,  _ empty, blank, as if he has been wrung completely dry, dust blown off of the years of piled exhaustion over his shoulders.

 

(Nothing is new.)

 

“Okay.”

 

And maybe, somewhere down the road, just a breath before the near future, he knows what he’s done, what kind of future they’re lead to. He’s already thought of it before, already braced himself for it, because he’s always been told that there is no other future he could ever know.

 

He’s prepared — not for Hongjoong, not for Hongjoong’s problems, but for the aftermath, the ending, the sequel, the very thing he’s trying to prevent.

 

He keeps telling himself that it’s no one’s fault, even when it feels like it is, even when it feels like it’s his.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(Everyone just wants it to be over.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(Hongjoong lies motionless on the bed, exhausted beyond belief, but his eyes burn behind his heavy lids when he attempts to fall asleep. He lets them open instead, staring blankly at nothing, body lax and breathing even as he stages sleep. He waits, patiently, listening to distant, faint sounds that stem from outside their room. His head feels strangely full despite the absence of thought, and it frustrates him, makes him feel incredibly restless.

 

Beside him, Seonghwa is dozing off, quietly, peacefully, head cushioned by his arm.)

  
  


(It’s okay to be tired.)

  
  


(As long as you’re not Hongjoong.)

**Author's Note:**

> Twt/cc: lazlowrites


End file.
